“No, it — I — Please don’t call the cops,” I said, stumbling over my words. What if I ended up in jail? What the hell would I tell my parents? What would I tell my boss? “I didn’t do it. I fucking swear I didn’t.”

The words died on my tongue as Manson turned around, glaring at me over the roof of his damaged Mustang.

“Don’t call the cops?” he said, his voice dangerously low as he stalked toward me. “No consequences for Jess, right? No fucking responsibility for your own actions?” He was right in my face now, inches away. Behind him, Vincent leaned against a large toolbox with his arms folded.

Manson reached into his pocket and wrenched out a cell phone, several models out of date with a cracked screen. He unlocked it and thrust it toward me. “Call them. Call the police. Believe me, you’d rather have them deal with you than me.”

Lucas let go of me as I took the cell in my trembling hands. The glares I was getting from the four of them could have melted steel beams as I opened up the dial pad, my thumb hovering over the 9.

I shook my head, pushing the phone back toward him.

“No.” I couldn’t meet his eyes, instead staring at the glass-covered floor, chewing the inside of my cheek. “I don’t want the cops involved. I’d rather…” I gulped. What the hell was I doing? The turning in my stomach didn’t feel like fear. It was something else, something strange. “I want to keep this between us.”

Manson’s eyes widened, his eyebrows disappearing beneath the hair lying loose over his forehead. Jason rubbed his hands over his face with a groan, saying, “I can’t believe it. I can’t fucking believe this shit.”

Vincent was laughing, a low chuckle that sounded truly maniacal. “So Jess wants to keep it between us. You come here, thrash our shit —”

“Oh, you’ve got it all wrong, Vince,” Jason said, head still bowed over his busted car. “She came here innocently and didn’t do a damn thing wrong. Not her fault, as usual.”

The guilt flooding through me was heavy, too intense to bear. Even though I hadn’t broken anything myself, I was still here. I’d followed Alex and the others, I’d broken in, I’d participated.

Lucas had called it right. I needed to be punished. I knew it, and I dreaded it as much as I desperately wanted it. Anything to make this crushing feeling of guilt and regret go away.

“I fucked up. I…I know this is bad.” I gulped. What I was about to ask for felt as difficult as dragging fish hooks through my guts, but I had to do it. “I get it, you’re mad. You’re angry and…”